


Faith & Dogs & Borrowed Time

by FictionPenned



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: The dogs greet him enthusiastically as soon as they catch a whiff of his scent and the sight of his familiar face, barking their strange mix of verbal greetings and running up to say a more personal hello. On instinct, Will drops to his knees in the snow, petting the dogs in turn, assuring them that he’s back and safe and intends to stay.Even as the words spin off of his tongue, however, he is aware that they are profoundly untrue. He may be back, but as long as Hannibal Lecter is on the loose, he is not safe, and his ability to stay exists far outside of his control. He didn’t used to be the sort of person who made promises that he would be unable to keep, but his situation has grown increasingly precious. There are no safe promises anymore, and it feels wrong to offer them nothing. In certain circumstances, lies have the capacity to be comforting, and this feels like one of them.Written for Fic In A Box 2020
Relationships: Will Graham & Will Graham's Dogs
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Faith & Dogs & Borrowed Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



Absolution is a strangely slippery sensation.

Will cannot seem to grasp onto the reality of the feeling for long before it seeps through the gaps in his fingers and dissolves into the ether. Perhaps it is because he has lost so much time over the past several months that he cannot be truly sure whether or not he has managed to _get away with murder_ , as the saying goes. Perhaps it is because he spent much of his incarceration so thoroughly convinced of his innocence that absolution seemed to be so inevitable that he is incapable of experiencing the true intended depth of absolution’s levity. However, perhaps the phenomenon is due to a far more fundamental cause. Perhaps _paranoia_ simply gets in the way of feeling anything else at all.

It is highly unsettling to exist in a world where he seems to be the only person really, truly _aware_ of the dark underbelly lurking beneath. He knows with no small amount of certainty that Hannibal Lecter is a _killer_ , yet he is entirely incapable of convincing the people around him of that very basic fact. Where once he was a valuable asset within the Behavioral Analysis Unit — though not a full-fledged agent — he has noticed that the people around him are more wary than they used to be, cherry-picking which of his claims to believe. No one is willing to trust him fully anymore. Jack has a hint — but he as proved profoundly unable to act upon it, leaving Will feeling like little more than a muzzled dog — allowed to walk and sniff and stand — but no one is willing to risk bearing the brunt of his _teeth_.

It’s frustrating.

It’s nerve-wracking.

It’s _horrifying_.

Though he has been released from the cells and cages of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will will not be free until the Hannibal is arrested and the cloud of suspicion that so thoroughly surrounds him has finally been lifted.

He steps onto his property for the first time in months, feeling the crust of days-old snow break beneath the soles of his shoes. While behind bars, he dreamed of grass, of running streams and dappled leaves and teaching Abigail how to fish on autumn mornings. How rude of them to release him in the brunt of winter, when not only is he robbed of Abigail’s company, but of the rest of the fantasy as well. It deepens the searing wounds of his betrayal, and deep within the pocket of his coat, he tightens his hand into an unseen fist. Though he has suffered far fewer losses than most of the people who have been drawn into the Chesapeake Ripper’s sticky, bloody web over the years, in this moment, they feel so monumental as to almost be rendered insurmountable.

But giving up would mean allowing Hannibal to _win_.

It would mean letting a notorious serial killer roam the streets without repercussions.

It would mean that all of this — the time, the pain, _Abigail_ — meant absolutely _nothing_ in the grand design of the universe, and Will Graham will not allow that to happen. He cannot allow that to happen. He will stand his ground and rip off his muzzle and sink his teeth into the meat of the problem until the taste of blood taints the back of her tongue and Hannibal Lecter finally stops _struggling_.

It’s a tempting thought, but not one he can indulge at the moment. There are other things to do. He has a home to put back in order, and a pack of dogs with which to reingratiate himself.He knows that they were well-cared for in his absence — Alana Bloom is, among other things, both responsible and reliable — but he missed them terribly. The dogs are the closest thing that he has to a family, and where a human family might have been allowed to offer the occasional visit during his incarceration, the dogs were very much not allowed in the facility. Alana checked with Chilton after Will’s initial admittance, and not even Winston — easily the best behaved and most photogenic of the bunch — was allowed to set so much as a paw inside the building. He’s seen pictures — small groups of slightly blurry pixels on Alana’s phone —but that’s not the same as being there with them, not the same as caretaking, not the same as scratching the back of their ears and seeing them wag their tails in grateful appreciation.

The dogs greet him enthusiastically as soon as they catch a whiff of his scent and the sight of his familiar face, barking their strange mix of verbal greetings and running up to say a more personal hello. On instinct, Will drops to his knees in the snow, petting the dogs in turn, assuring them that he’s back and safe and intends to stay.

Even as the words spin off of his tongue, however, he is aware that they are profoundly untrue. He may be back, but as long as Hannibal Lecter is on the loose, he is not safe, and his ability to stay exists far outside of his control. He didn’t used to be the sort of person who made promises that he would be unable to keep, but his situation has grown increasingly precious. There are no safe promises anymore, and it feels wrong to offer them nothing. In certain circumstances, lies have the capacity to be comforting, and this feels like one of them.

It is a false design, painted within the specter of a life that no longer belongs to him.

At the moment, his life is Hannibal’s unwilling hostage.

He lives it on Hannibal’s terms, and on Hannibal’s time.

Will shrugs off the unpleasant thought with a stuttered roll of the shoulders and a sideways tilts of his head, desperately attempting to dispel the tension that runs throughout his body. He forces a tight-lipped smile as he looks around at the dogs, eyes tracking the mess of tracks that their paws leave in the snow around the house, and heads towards the door.

Inside, surrounded by warmth and the presence of his own belongings, he feels a little bit better, can breath a little bit easier. It is far from a panacea, but it makes the idea of freedom — though temporary and with conditions — feel a bit more real. He hangs his keys on the rack beside the door and reaches out and runs a hand over the counter. He expects his fingertips to come away dusty, but when he looks down at them, they’re completely clean.

Alana’s doing, most likely. He’ll have to remember to thank her. Most people would probably send a card, but writing thank you notes has always felt beyond his abilities. All words feel hollow and contrived, and he rarely manages to make it past the first, perfunctory sentence. _Thank you for everything you did for me_. Maybe he’ll just give her a case of beer next time he sees her. With luck, she’ll appreciate and understand the gesture, even if she neither understands nor appreciates Will’s many warnings about Hannibal’s true nature.

He looks around the room with care, appreciating and remembering the many details that define his normal, day-to-day life. The fishing lures. The wood panelling. The myriad bowls of food and water that belong to the dogs.

The dogs jump at his hands and circle his legs, excitedly fishing for treats and attention.

It takes Will a couple tries to locate the jar of treats. Normally he keeps them in a cabinet above the stove, but Alana seems to have moved them down to a place that’s within her reach. Will supposes that that’s a fair enough reason to relocate something, though after he distributes the snacks, he makes a point of putting it back where it belongs.

There is still firewood sitting in the rack by the fire, waiting to be used. No doubt it was intended for the day when he was snatched up and arrested, but he is glad that it is still here. It saves him from trying to dig out the outdoor pile from beneath the coat of half-frozen snow and fruitlessly attempting to find the driest logs at the bottom. Will doesn’t have the energy for that kind of task right now. He simply wants to exist for a while, unchallenged and unquestioned.

It does not take him long to get the fire going, and he disappears down a hallway to fetch a couple of quilts from the linen closet. Tucked away in this space is a tiny, bright yellow exhibit card marked with a letter. Will watches it fall to the floor, and then crushes it with his heel. He hasn’t the faintest idea when authorities thought they might have found there, but whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t strong enough to move the needle in either direction. He’ll throw it away later, once he feels up to the task of cleaning.

Returning to the space in front of the fire, Will lays one of the blankets down on the floor for the pack and buries himself beneath the other, absorbing the warmth of the fire. The dogs lay down around him, pressing backs and legs and cold noses into his space. He may have been absent from the pack for a while now, but he has already been accepted back into it. For that and that alone, he is grateful.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. The words are slightly muffled by fur and woven fibers, but he is aware of the beating of tails and the panting of breaths that often accompanies canine gratitude. “Thank you for still being here.”

A second thought — quieter and more uncertain, but no less important for it — almost goes unspoken.

In the end, he whispers it directly next to the ear of the closest pack member.

“Thank you for believing in me.”

In Wolf Trap, Virginia’s current climate, belief is paramount. It is currency. It is the difference between action and inaction, between failure and success, between life and death. Even the faith between strays and their caretaker is important and impactful in its own way.

Belief is what will keep Will Graham alive, and belief is what will eventually place Hannibal Lecter behind bars.

It is the only thing Will has, and he plans to milk it for whatever it’s worth.


End file.
